


Love at Second Sight

by BenjisCoolTimes



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Smut, mountain climbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 19:05:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11720598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenjisCoolTimes/pseuds/BenjisCoolTimes
Summary: Leslie Knope finds everything she didn’t know she was looking for in the strangest of places…on a mountain in Tanzania.





	Love at Second Sight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PawneeWafflesBen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PawneeWafflesBen/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY BROOKLYN! I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it for you <3 
> 
> There’s a Swahili phrase in this fic, pole pole, which is pronounced like “poe-lay poe-lay”. Happy reading!!

_Moshi, Tanzania_

The cab driver’s knuckles turn an eerie shade of white around the steering wheel as Leslie quizzes him about the passing coffee plantations and old buildings, and finally, he snaps.

“I’m _not_ a tour guide, ma’am,” he says through gritted teeth. “I’m sure someone at your destination would be happy to answer any questions you have about the area, but if you ask me any more, I’m going to raise your fare.”

Leslie rolls her eyes and slinks back into her seat. What does he know anyway? 

Her eyes flick to a swirling bank of clouds in the distance, which she knows hides the mountain. She’s been told (not by the cab driver) that once evening comes, the skies will clear to reveal Kilimanjaro in all of its glory. Really though, Leslie probably won't see it in its entirety until after she’s climbed it, which seems almost ridiculous in retrospect. 

She signed up for a guided trek up the mountain months ago. Admittedly, she was drunk at the time, and Ann was by her side, telling her that she _deserved a vacation,_ and well…this happened. 

Stupid, stupid alcohol. 

Leslie sighs and fiddles with the bow on the back of her new sunhat - the one Ann gave her before she boarded the plane - and tries not to think too hard about her upcoming climb. 

And of course, the more she tries not to think about it, the more she does, and the half-hour car ride turns into a five second one. They pull up in front of an old, white building that reads _Wanderlust Expeditions_ in peeling red letters. It looks exactly like the kind of place you’d see in a horror movie, oddly sinister in quality, and Leslie swallows a gulp. Absentmindedly she throws some money up front and hauls her pack out with her, biting at her lip. 

“Have a good climb!” the driver yells, clearly at his happiest now that Leslie’s getting out of his cab. She nods inattentively, all her attention now focused on the looming task ahead of her. The mountain seems somehow even scarier up close, and crap on a cranberry, is she really doing this?

She should definitely turn back now, right? Leave this place and forget any of this ever happened? She’s done her research; she knows that people have _died_ on the expedition, and she doesn't want to become one of those dead bodies, no sir! 

But then she hears noble and wise Ann Perkins’ voice inside her head, telling her not to be a baby, and she lifts her head up higher. She can do this. She’s Leslie freaking Knope!

But also, the cab driver is long gone by now, so it’s not like she has much of a choice but to go inside. 

Still though, she attributes her bravery to her overall Gryffindor-ness more than anything. The Sorting Hat never fails, and if it said she was a Gryffindor at heart, then goddamnit, she’s going to climb this mountain. She’s going to climb Kilimanjaro so hard, it won't know what hit it. So, hah! Take that Africa!

“Jambo!” Leslie yells as she bursts into the only room in the whole place. “My name is Leslie Knope, and I will be climbing the mountain today! How do you do?” 

She takes off her sunhat and does a fancy little bow with it in her hands. 

The person behind the desk, a man who must be nearing his seventies by now, just shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath before addressing her.

“Hello,” he says monotonously. “Which trail did you sign up for?”

He’s already ruffling through a stack of papers on the countertop, glasses sliding down his nose.

“Lemosho,” Leslie says, trying to seem more confident and adventure-y than she feels, when, truthfully, she’s never missed home more. She could really go for some JJ’s waffles right about now, with whipped cream and strawberries, and maybe even a side of french fries.

God, she wishes she were back in Pawnee.

“How long is that route?” she asks as the man finally seems to find what he’s looking for. He slides a stack of papers towards her to sign. “How many other climbers are there? Who’s going to be our guide? What’s the weather like this time of year?”

About a thousand more questions follow until Leslie finally gets the good sense to tone it down a bit. She always gets like this when she’s nervous, forgets to shut her trap and spews word salad all over everyone. 

Maybe she should count backwards from one-thousand by sevens and think about warm brownies. That usually calms her down. 

And makes her hungry for brownies.

“Lemosho takes about seven days to climb, but it’s well worth it,” the man reassures her, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “It’s the most beautiful trail we offer, and it looks like no one else signed up for it today, so it’ll probably just be you and your guide.”

Ooh! One-on-one time! She’ll be able to ask unlimited questions without annoying any other hikers, and unlimited questions are her _favorite._ She should've brought a binder for this occasion. 

“Your guide will be with you shortly,” the man says, gesturing to a single, spindly chair in the corner, which looks to be about as old as the mountain itself. Leslie sits down with a creak, gazing around the wide room. It’s plain, unexciting, and Leslie picks one of the National Geographic magazines off the table from next to her, thumbing through it absentmindedly. 

She isn't sitting there for much longer when someone new walks into the place, all scruffy and angular. He walks like he’s been here before, with purpose, backpack slung over his shoulder and Ray Bans sitting atop his nose. Leslie knows, even before he can introduce himself, that he must be her guide. He’s too familiar with the place, too comfortable to be anything else. He seems like he belongs here, and Leslie, more than ever, feels extremely out of place. 

“Hello.” He holds out his hand with a smile. “I’m Ben Wyatt.” 

With a groan of the chair, Leslie stands and shakes his hand, which is surprisingly muscular and firm beneath hers. He may be taut, but he’s certainly strong, like a lithe mountain lion or something…

“I’m Leslie,” she says. “Leslie Barbra Knope from Pawnee, Indiana.” 

Ben smiles. “I used to live in the states too. Minnesota actually, but I moved out here about ten years ago.” 

Curiosity gets better of her, and Leslie doesn't even care that she’s interrogating a literal stranger about his life decisions. She’s going to be spending a little over a week with him after all; she might as well get to know him a bit, right? 

“Why’d you move?” Leslie asks, as Ben takes her pack from her and slings it over his own shoulder for the short walk to the jeep outside. He does this like everything else he’s done so far, with such practiced ease that makes Leslie instantly jealous. Her pack is really heavy too, and he makes it look like it’s less than five pounds, even combined with he weight of his own. “Do you have family out here or something?”

“Nope.” Ben pushes their packs into the backseat before opening the passenger door for Leslie. “I just wanted a change of pace I guess, and somehow I ended up here.” 

Leslie gets the sense that there’s actually much more to the story than what he tells her, but she decides not to push. Her mother always tells her that she’s too nosy for her own good anyways and that she _has to tone down the questions_. 

“Oh…” she says instead as Ben slides into the driver’s seat next to her. “So, how long have you been doing guided tours then?” 

“Seven years this fall.”

She studies him. He certainly looks like someone who’s been climbing mountains for seven years, with his muscular forearms and tight, compact little calves that she bets are _great_ at hiking. 

But he also looks somehow familiar? She can't quite put her finger on it. 

“Do I know you?” Leslie asks, but Ben just shrugs. 

“I just have one of those faces, I guess,” he says. “I’m sure I would’ve remembered you if we’d met before.”

“Why’s that?”

Again with the shrug, though this time he’s smiling too. “No reason.” 

Somehow, they turn the conversation back to the hike itself, which does little to help the growing pit inside Leslie’s stomach. Her face twists into a regretful expression, but if Ben sees this, he doesn't point it out.

“If you get tired during the climb, or you want to stop for a few minutes, please tell me,” he says, looking over at her. “Eat and drink as often as you can, especially when you don't feel like it. You’re going to need to keep your energy up. It’s gonna be a long climb.”

Leslie nods. “Okie dokie,” she says, all nonchalant-like. The idea of climbing up the highest peak in all of Africa doesn't scare her, no way. This is easy-peasy-lemon-squeezie. 

No. Big. Deal. 

“And if you get a headache or feel nauseous, let me know, and we can stop. It could be from the altitude.” 

“Okay,” she agrees. Her lip is pulled between her teeth like it belongs there. 

“It’ll be fun though,” Ben reassures her. “I know a lot about the area, so ask as many questions as you want. I can even teach you some Swahili if you’d like…”

This, if anything, makes Leslie’s heart swell and the pit in her stomach subside. Has she mentioned that she _loves_ questions? More than anything. 

“Oh! I started teaching myself the language on the plane a bit,” she laments before launching into a detailed explanation of all the words she already knows and the ones she wants to learn. This seems to amuse Ben, and he chuckles.

“Wow, you certainly did your research,” he says. “Though, I think words like _yes, no_ and _thank you_ should’ve been introduced into your vocabulary before _waffle_ and _government.”_

Leslie almost slaps him for that. _Waffle_ and _government_ are very important words! They’re numbers two and seven on her _List of Most Crucial Words in The History of Ever,_ and that’s not something she takes very lightly. 

But still, she lets him teach her some other (probably more useful) words, and by the time they get to Londorossi Gate, she knows _pole pole_ which literally translates to _slowly, slowly_ in Swahili and is used by hikers to let their guides know when they want to slow down. She also knows how to tell people her name, say please and thank you, and ask what’s for dinner. All important stuff. Especially dinner.

Ben puts the jeep into park, and Leslie takes a deep breath, looking to the worn down mountain path.

“Ready?” Ben asks, he steps out of the car and holds her door open for her. Leslie takes his hand as she climbs out, ignoring the way her heart is pummeling itself against her ribcage.

She nods and squares her shoulders back. She can do this; she’s Leslie freaking Knope. 

***

“Today we’ll be traveling through the rain forest,” Ben tells her as he helps her over a particularly large log obstructing the walkway. “Then, tomorrow, we’ll reach Shira Ridge. It’ll be a lot of tall grass and plateaus, but you’ll get a glimpse of some pretty cool volcanic rock too…”

He tells her what’s in store for each day, and, instead of making her more nervous, Ben’s commentary actually puts her at ease. He won't let anything happen to her. Even now, after she’s fallen into the mud two times (okay, fine…three), he’s extra careful to make sure she’s doing alright. He points out bumps in the path and lets her hold onto his shoulder when she crosses uneven ground.

“You picked the best route, you know?” he tells her. “Lemosho is my favorite.”

He steps over a large rock in a practiced move. He might just as well be walking down an ordinary street in Pawnee for all the trouble it gives him…Jerk.

“Really?” Leslie asks, panting. The hike is only getting harder as they go on. “I heard it’s the most beautiful.” 

“Just wait until we get to the summit in a few more days. You’ll love it.”

Four very exhausting, very muddy, very bug-infested hours later, when Leslie’s legs no longer work normally, Ben announces that they’ve reached their campground for the night. The porters have come and gone already, and two tents are laid out for them (legally, they’re not allowed to carry their own things up the mountain), with a cooking tent in the middle. There are other climbers off to the side, all talking with their guides or otherwise eating in silence. Some are even asleep upright, their chins bobbing on their chests as they breathe.

“Welcome to Big Tree Camp!” Ben says, throwing his arms out wide and gesturing to all the…well…big trees. 

Leslie, who predictably cannot help herself when it comes to any new piece of knowledge, begins to interrogate Ben about all the flora and fauna around them. He’s very detailed, and actually answers all her questions (suck it, cab driver), and Leslie might just be in heaven. He even makes her a cup of locally grown coffee before giving her a small tour of the entire campsite.

Several other people are mulling about, snapping pictures of a monkey in one of the trees, and the flowers that litter the ground, and just about anything else they can aim a camera at. She understands the hype of bing here now, and snaps a few pictures of her own for the scrapbook she’ll make when she gets home. The view really is beautiful, and something about being here is humbling. She feels small in the biggest of places, but instead of scaring her, this only puts her at ease.

In a weird way, she feels almost like she belongs here. 

“We’re on the western side of the mountain,” Ben tells her as he takes a sip from his coffee. “Elevation is about 9,500 feet. On the last day of the upward climb, we’ll hit about 15,100, so we still have a ways to go.”

“Holy toledo, that’s a lot of feet…” Leslie mutters, gripping her cup tighter. 

They end up sitting on a log together, side-by-side as they enjoy the meal one of the porters made them. Life on the mountain really isn't as bad as Leslie thought it would be; everything’s practically done for her already, save for the hike itself. Her pack is carried, her food is made, her tent is set up…all without her lifting so much as a finger.

All in all, she considers day one of _Mission: Climb Mount Kilimanjaro_ a success. 

She falls asleep easily that night. 

***

“ _Pole pole_!” Leslie rasps about three hours into the next day’s hike, holding a stitch in her side. Ben, ever the obedient tour guide, slows his pace.

“Do you want to stop for a few minutes? Drink some water?” 

Already, he’s unscrewing the top of his own flask and offering it to her. 

“Oh, god, thank you. I think my throat is turning into sandpaper.” 

Ben studies her for a moment before declaring it’s time to take a lunch break and rest up. She gets the feeling he knows about the headache she’s been keeping from him, and she grumbles quietly beneath her breath. She really didn't want to stop. Things up here are just so…fascinating. 

But instead of exploring the mountain, she’s being guided to a space underneath a tree, where Ben tells her to sit and drink. 

“This is normal, Leslie,” he tells her. “Most people aren't used to the sudden differences in altitude, and they need a few minutes of rest before they can go on.”

“Yeah, but I wanna go nooooow,” she whines. “Everything is so pretty, and you’re a really good guide, and I’m too excited to just sit here and do nothing!”

“Tough.” Ben says, to which Leslie opens and closes her mouth several times before realizing she actually has no comeback for that.

Jerk.

He looks at his watch, then back down at her, hands on his hips. 

“Drink please.” 

With a roll of her eyes, she takes a sip of his water, which she never gave back to him.

“We’ll sit here for thirty minutes or so, then we can get going again, okay?”

Ben’s smirking at her, almost like he’s actually amused by her petulance. He has a dumb smirk too, and Leslie chugs some more of his water just to spite him for it.

Ben sits down with his back against the tree directly across from her. He interlocks his fingers behind his head and shuts his eyes, sunlight pouring all over his face. It makes his hair, which is usually so brownie-like in color, look more blonde, and it lights up his features brilliantly.

She only wonders what that sun would do to his butt.

Because lord knows she’s noticed that butt a few times on this hike. It’s like two little apples dancing around in his pants, all cute and begging for her teeth. Just seconds before he made them stop, she’d been looking at it longingly, watching those apples go up and down with every step he took.

It’s not like she’s objectifying him or anything…It’s just that he has a very nice behind. Nice and supple, with the perfect amount of squish.

Okay, fine, maybe she _is_ objectifying him, but only a little!! A lady can't help but notice these things…

“What do you do in Pawnee?” Ben asks, interrupting her thoughts. His eyes are open again, and he’s staring right at her. 

“I’m deputy director of the most amazing Parks and Recreation Department in all of America,” Leslie says proudly. 

“Really?” Ben’s smile is back. “Why parks?”

“My dad and I used to visit the parks a lot when I was younger, and I guess I just fell in love. Everyone’s happy there, and I…well, I like making people happy.”

“I’m sure you’re very good at it.”

It’s Leslie’s turn to smile. “I hope so. I’ve always wanted to be involved in government, maybe even run for office someday, so I figured I had to start somewhere.” 

“What kind of office?”

“Executive,” Leslie says, twisting her fingers together. She knows what comes next - she’s had this conversation with too many people already not to. Ben will make some sort of remark about how that’s dreaming kind of high or make her feel weird about it somehow. Everyone has. 

Everyone except for her dad.

“Well, you have my vote, Madame President,” Ben says. Leslie sits up straighter. She can't have heard him right. Maybe she needs to clean her ears.

“I’m sorry,” she says with a shake of her head as she wiggles her finger inside her ear. “I don't think I heard you right. Did you just say…?”

“I told you that you have my vote. You seem pretty passionate about what you believe in, and you’re good at heart from what I can tell. I wouldn't want just anyone leading the country, you know? Especially not someone who doesn't have any experience in government, like say, a businessman who got a small loan of one-million dollars from his father…”

This makes Leslie laugh. 

“I’m serious though. I bet you have what it takes,” Ben tells her. “I, uh…didn’t.” 

Leslie furrows her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Ben sighs and leans his head back against the tree trunk. His hands fiddle in his lap as he searches for words.

“When I was 18, I ran for mayor of my hometown and won.”

Why was this sounding so familiar? 

Suddenly realization hits her. “Oh my god! You were Benji Wyatt!”

Ben’s head sags. “I was. I’d always had high political ambitions, so I managed my own campaign and somehow won, but I ended up running the town into the ground. I spent all it’s money on a winter sports complex called Ice Town and went bankrupt.”

“You were so cute, though! I followed your campaign my sophomore year of high school.”

“Yeah, well…” Ben shrugs. “Being cute didn't get me too far. The worst part was that my parents grounded me.” 

Leslie giggles. “Yeah, but at least you tried something, you know? It took a lot of guts and you…you went for it, which I think is pretty cool. I mean, yeah, you probably shouldn't have blown your budget on a sports complex, and it sounds like you mismanaged the hell out of the whole thing, but you were _eighteen_. Eighteen year olds do a lot of dumb things. I cut my hair like Angela Lansbury and joined chess club.”

“Hey,” Ben warns with a smile. “Don't knock chess club.” 

“You get my point…”

“Yeah, I do. My life just turned out to be a lot different than I expected because of it. After I was impeached, everyone in town basically hated me; they all called me Ice Clown and threw eggs at my house, so,I left.”

Leslie couldn't even imagine her own hometown turning against her for something like that. He’d only been trying to make things more fun!

Her heart aches for him.

“Where’d you go?”

“Well, at first I just traveled around a lot in the states. I ended up near the Rockies in Colorado and did a lot of mountain climbing there. About a year later, I got the opportunity to climb Kili.” He gestures around them. “So, I took it, and somehow I just…settled. I haven't gone back home since.” 

“You…you haven't gone back home? Don't you miss your family? I’m sure they miss you!” 

“I sent them a letter before I left. They know I’m out here, and they’ve never really made an effort to reach out or come visit or anything. Except for my brother; he still writes once in a while…” 

“Oh,” Leslie says, finding that she’s suddenly lost for words. She can't even begin to imagine something like that.

“Yeah…” Ben looks down at his watch before pushing himself off the ground. “Our half-hour is up. You ready to get going again?”

Ann would tell her that this is the part of the conversation where it ends and Leslie shouldn't prod, but Leslie can't help herself.

She lets Ben help her up and dusts off her pants.

“Well, just so you know, I still think you should be proud of yourself for putting yourself out there and trying something. I’m sorry it didn't work out the way you wanted it to.”

Ben smiles at her.

“Thank you, Leslie.” 

***

Leslie wakes up to Ben’s hand on her shoulder. He’s smiling down on her, a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

“It’s still dark out,” she says dumbly, rubbing at her eyes and taking the proffered drink. 

Last night, she hadn't gotten much sleep. Thoughts about Ice Town and everything Ben told her kept mulling around inside her brain, and she couldn't turn them off. Eventually, she’d snuck out of her tent in search for some fresh air, only to find Ben already out there.

He’d made some more coffee, and they sat with each other, taking about nothing significant at all before she finally dozed off against his shoulder, head buried into the crook of his neck. She doesn't remember coming back to her tent, but she supposes she must have because she’s here now, wrapped snugly inside her sleeping bag with Ben hovering over her.

“We have a long day ahead of us, so we should get an early start,” he says.

Leslie looks around, confused. “How’d I end up back inside my tent?”

“Oh, uh,” Ben scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “You fell asleep on me, and you seemed pretty out of it, so I just…I carried you back here. I hope that’s okay.” 

See, she knew those calves were strong.

“Oh! Yeah, that’s totally fine. Coolio beans!” 

Does she look laid back? She hopes she does, but she props her head up on her elbow just in case.

“Right,” Ben says, a bit uncertainly as he backs out of her tent. “Well, breakfast is waiting whenever you’re ready.” 

She makes sure to catch a glimpse of his butt as he leaves. It’s like a drug to her; she can't get enough, and this is her daily fix.

She learns that Ben wasn't kidding when he said this day would be a long one. When he tells her that the total hiking time reaches about 7 hours, she almost trips over a tree root and has to latch onto him just to keep upright. That was about four hours ago. Now, they’ve just finished lunch and are onto the next leg of the climb. 

It’s getting colder now too. She knows that tomorrow she’ll have to trade in her shorts for pants and maybe even pull out her winter hat - the purple one with a fluffy pompom on top. 

“Most people don't come out here alone, you know,” Ben says, looking back to her. He slows down so they can walk side-by-side, and his hand brushes dangerously close to hers. “I usually end up taking couples up the mountain.” 

Leslie shrugs. “It’s just me.” 

“You don't have anyone to get back home to?” Ben puts his hands in his pockets, and Leslie immediately misses the warmth of having them so close by. 

“No, why?”

“Just making conversation.” 

“Oh,” Leslie says. “Well, what about you? Are you seeing anyone?” 

Her voice gets weirdly high, and Leslie wishes she could slap herself. She might as well just scream to the world that she wants to sleep with her tour guide. Or at least kiss his pouty little lips and do unspeakable things to his probably amazing penis.

“No, not right now. I actually haven't dated for a few years.” Ben looks at her, eyes hard and laced with something she can't quite place.

“How come?” 

“I wasn't interested in anyone.” 

Leslie clasps her hands together in front of her. “And what about now?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper. It blends in with the wind, and for a second she doesn't think Ben even heard her.

But then…

“Well, now’s different, isn't it?” 

A few hours later, they reach their campground, and Leslie regrets the fact that after dinner, they’ll part for two very different tents. 

***

It isn't until the fourth day that she realizes she stinks. 

It’s been four painfully long days of applying and reapplying deodorant, and doing far too much physical activity, and she desperately needs a shower. She tells Ben this when she comes out of her tent for breakfast, but to her surprise, he just smiles.

“You’re going to be pretty happy in about four hours then.”

“What? Why?” Leslie asks, scooping some food onto her plate. “Are there showers on the mountain?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see…”

“Ben!” Leslie screeches, startling one of the porters so horribly that he actually drops all his food. Ben laughs. “You can't just say something like that, then not tell me more!” 

He pokes her in the side.

“Yes, I can.” 

“No! No, you can’t. In fact, I won't allow it.” She stands in front of him with her arms crossed, food long forgotten on the log next to her. “Spill your secrets!” 

“Make me.” His voice is teasing, and Leslie’s had enough of this nonsense. She slaps him through a fit of giggles.

“Ow!”

“Tell me!” 

He doesn’t. In fact, he makes her wait the entire four hours it takes to get there, and it isn't until they arrive, that he finally spills the beans. 

“Glacier water!” 

Leslie pulls her hat further down her head and rubs her hands together for the friction. “Um…what?” 

“Glacier water,” Ben repeats as he grabs her hand and pulls her towards a nearby stream. The faint sounds of water trickling over rock can be heard as they get nearer, and people can be seen all up and down the stream, washing their hair in it and splashing water on their arms and legs and anywhere they can reach. “I brought shampoo and soap. I know it’s not exactly a shower, but…” 

He rubs the back of his neck. Leslie’s noticed that he does this when he’s feeling awkward or unsure, so she squeezes his hand. 

“Hand over the soap, mister.” 

This makes him laugh, and the sound reaches the ends of her heart. She’s grown to love that sound even in the four days she’s known him. It’s warm and hearty and full of life and everything a laugh should be. She wants to lock it away forever, for safekeeping. 

“Yes ma’am.

He guides her to the edge of the stream, and they bend down together, hands never untangling. Leslie reaches for the water, and then immediately draws her fingers away.

“Crap on a cracker, that’s cold!” 

“Well, did you expect _glacier_ water to be warm?” Ben leans into her, almost causing her to lose her balance. 

“Shut up,” she mumbles, trying to keep the grin off her face as she braves the water again. It’s definitely cold - much colder than she would like, but as a gust of wind sails by and she gets another smell of herself, she decides, cold be darned.

Ben, apparently sensing her decision, turns her towards him.

“Here,” he says as he crosses his legs beneath him. “Lay your head in my lap. I’ll wash your hair for you.” 

Leslie does as she’s told, stretching her body out until her head is resting on Ben’s legs, the tips of her hair dangling in the water. She closes her eyes, relishing in the way Ben’s fingers slide across the plane of her neck before he reaches her hair. 

His touch is delicate, and it makes her forget just how cold the water really is. 

“I haven't done this in a long time,” he says.

Leslie peels back one eye, only to find his lip pulled between his teeth all sexily. His focus is solely on the task in front of him, and holy mackerel, does he look somehow even more attractive when he’s concentrating hard.

“You mean you don't do this for all your clients?” Her voice is teasing, but his is anything but.

“Certainly not.” 

Leslie doesn't know how to respond, so she closes her eyes again, moaning when Ben’s fingers massage her scalp. An errant drop of water finds it’s way down her cheek, but Ben chases it with the pad of his finger, and everything about this feels so…intimate.   Her lady parts may or may not be on fire.

“If my scalp freezes and all my hair falls out, I might have to sue you,” she says. Ben’s chuckle is soft. 

“I bet I could beat you in a legal battle, Knope.” 

He lifts the back of her neck and wrings out her hair as best as he can before cupping her face in his hands. The whole world has disappeared with them like this, and for all she’s concerned no one else exists. On this entire mountain, it’s just them, a population of two. 

“You have a beautiful face,” he tells her. 

“So do you.”

***

That night, Leslie tosses and turns inside her tent. She debates for a while about whether or not she wants to ignore everything she’s feeling and sleep, but in the end she decides she knows what she really wants. She unzips her sleeping bag and climbs out quietly, not looking back once she leaves the tent.

Ben is still outside, sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the ground. He’s scribbling furiously into an open notebook, headphones over his ears, and he doesn't look up until she’s directly in front of him.

“Hey,” she says as he pulls the headphones around his neck. 

“Hi.” 

He doesn't seem surprised that she’s here, and if Leslie’s being one-hundred percent honest with herself, she’s not all that surprised either. 

“What are you writing about?” She points to his notebook.

“You.”

He pushes off the ground and takes her hand in his, pulling her towards his tent. 

It’s really, really sexy. Like Phantom of the Opera level sexy, and Leslie can all but feel her ovaries exploding inside of her. His grip on her hands is something that feels possessive and reassuring. She should really buy him a mask. It would send this entire Phantom thing home.

“Do you play the organ by any chance?”

“The organ?” Ben looks at her, puzzled, so Leslie just shakes her head.

“Never mind.”

One could dream.

Ben tugs her down so she can climb into his tent with him, and then he turns to zip it closed. When he spins around again, his eyes, which are usually so light and fudgey in color, turn black and connect with hers. 

His fingers trace the back of her neck and twist into her hair, pulling it to the side experimentally. Leslie moves her neck and Ben places a gentle kiss there, fingers never moving. When he comes back up again, his hands frame the sides of her face. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers, husky, and before she can even say _thank you,_ his lips are brushing against hers. 

Most first kisses are soft, and it’s not that this one isn’t, but there’s a hunger behind it too. Ben’s mouth is demanding, and his hands hold her head in place. Everything about this kiss is on his terms, and while Leslie usually likes to be in control, she finds herself submissive. 

Truthfully, she isn't sure she could be in control right now even if she tried. Ben Wyatt, king of butts, has reduced her legs and arms and entire being to jelly. 

Damn him.

His hands leave the sides of her face to tug at the hem of her shirt. They break apart so the material can pass between them, but then they’re back together again in an instant. She’s pretty sure he shirt goes flying somewhere across the tent, followed shortly by her bra, and in any other circumstance, it might even be comical, but she’s beyond the level of caring about any of these things. 

Now it’s just her and Ben and nothing else. 

Well, and the goosebumps bumping up from beneath her skin.

“You’re freezing,” Ben says, leaning his forehead against hers and rubbing his hands up and down her arms. 

“I don't care,” she says, and really, she doesn’t. How could she?

Her hands move to the zipper on his pants, and before he can do anything about it, she’s pulling them down around his ankles. With a bit of maneuvering in the tight space, Ben’s able to yank both them and his boxers from his legs. He falls back on the sleeping bag, legs outstretched in front of him and hands holding him steady from behind. 

Leslie sinks down in front of him, reaching out with a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. When she touches him, Ben inhales sharply, and when she finally wraps her mouth around him, she looks up just in time to see his eyes roll back. 

His hands find their way back into her hair, and he sweeps it from the back of her neck, holding it up for her as she sucks his cock.

Such a gentleman.

As she goes on, she gains speed, eager to find out more of what makes him moan, what makes him buck his hips so beautifully into her mouth, but his hands tighten in her hair.

“ _Pole pole_ ,” he whispers, and Leslie slows down again. Her nails rake against the skin of his legs, almost as if to find purchase. He feels so heavy on her tongue, filling her mouth completely and perfectly.

Eventually though, he pulls her gently away with the small traces of a smile.

She stands to wriggle out of her pants, and then her legs are on either side of Ben’s waist. His hands come up her back so that he can tug her to him and kiss her again. When he pulls away, he moves the headphones off of his neck and places them over her ears, then takes off his shirt. Soon, they’re skin on skin, R.E.M.’s Star Me Kitten playing softly in her ears. 

He moves his cock beneath her, until it’s perfectly lined up and all she needs to do is fall onto him. 

Her back arches as he fills her, so painfully slow. Ben uses this as an opportunity to palm her breasts, and finally, his mouth closes over one, sloppy and determined and perfect. Leslie moves her hips, and he sighs into her, breath cold against her already wet skin. 

It doesn't take long for either of them, especially once Ben’s thumb connects with her clit and she’s breathing heavily into his neck, holding his hair. She goes over first, body tensing and lip pulled between her teeth, and this, apparently, is enough to put Ben over the edge too. 

They fall into each other, bodies relaxing as they regain breath. His hand rubs lazy circles across her back and shoulders and all down her arms, warming her to the core. She thinks she could actually fall asleep here, in his arms surrounded by nothing but him, nothing but Ben.

It isn't until later, when Leslie curls into his side that she realizes they haven't spoken much this entire time, but then again, she supposes that they hadn't really needed to; they had each other and that was absolutely enough to fill in the silence.  

***

It should be awkward, but it’s not. 

She wakes up to strong arms engulfing her and a mortified porter at the edge of the tent, who had only come to wake up Ben but encountered quite a surprise instead. A very naked surprise. 

Leslie’s grateful that she’s mostly covered, if not by the sleeping bag, then by Ben himself, who laughs softly in her hair.

“Sorry, sorry!” the porter says before rushing out again, sure to zip the tent up as fast as his hands will allow. 

Leslie’s giggling too as she looks into Ben’s face. 

“Good morningggg.” 

“Good morning, sunshine,” he replies, voice still laced with sleep. He sounds like a handsome Morgan Freeman or something, and thoughts of what they did just last night fill Leslie’s mind again. She snuggles closer to him at the memory. 

“This isn't usually part of the guided tour, is it?” she asks. “Cuddling with clients?” 

Ben pokes her in the side. “No, it is not. C’mon, let’s get some food in your belly.” 

After breakfast, the next leg of the climb begins, and if Leslie thought her legs were sore a few days ago, it’s nothing compared to now. Today, she’s been told, is the steepest and most difficult climb, but absolutely the most rewarding, because by the end, they’ll reach the summit. 

And crap on a chimney does she want to reach the summit. 

Ben holds her hand just about the entire way, and Leslie appreciates the fact that they haven't made this awkward in the slightest. 

Because, really, it shouldn’t be.

“I didn't know you liked to write,” she says at lunchtime, when they’re both eating the stew she’s getting very tired of. She thinks back to last night, before he’d seen her sneak up on him (she doesn't care what anyone says; she’s _very_ sneaky), when he’d been concentrating on what he was writing. He’d looked so focused, but also more relaxed than she’d ever seen him before.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I write from time to time. It keeps me busy.”

“What kinds of things do you write about?” 

“Anything. Everything,” he says, handing her a napkin when broth dribbles down her chin. “I saw a therapist for a few months after Ice Town, and he told me that writing could be very therapeutic. Now, I try to do it as often as I can. It keeps me sane.” 

“You should let me read something you’ve written sometime.”

The _sometime_ hangs in the air between them like a promise of an after - after the mountain, and Leslie knows that isn't possible. After this, she’s going to go back home, and Ben is going to continue giving tours here, far away from where she’ll be. Maybe he’ll even meet someone else here, someone who actually lives close-by, and he’ll forget Leslie ever existed. 

She pictures a hot, leggy brunette named Rebecca, and for some reason the mental image is enough to send her heart straight to her toes. It isn't like she didn't know that this thing between them wouldn't last - how could it - but still, it doesn't stop her from wishing it would.

“Sorry,” she says, after a moment. “I didn't mean…”

“No, it’s okay.” Ben’s looking at her curiously. “This feels like it could last forever, doesn't it?”  

“So it’s not just me?”

“No, it’s not just you.”

After that, the matter drops, and Leslie tries (and fails) not to think about it anymore. It’s no way to live, dwelling over something that could never be. She might as well just enjoy this moment, enjoy the time she gets with Ben, even if it feels like no time at all.

*** 

Leslie used to think that gazing over Pawnee from atop Nipple Hill was beautiful, but that doesn't even begin to compare to the view from atop Mount Kilimanjaro. Even with the added Sweetums pollution that made the skies back at home so cotton-candy pink, Pawnee, for the first time in her life, feels somewhat inferior. 

“Fuck,” Leslie whispers, in awe. She can't stop looking around or pointing things out to Ben that he’s probably seen a hundred times already. 

“I didn't know you could swear,” Ben teases, but Leslie’s too busy taking in the view to slap him. It’s stunning, gorgeous, immaculate. Words fail her up here. 

Ben comes up behind her, slinging an arm around her collarbone and pulling her back to him. His scruff tickles her neck as he kisses beneath her ear.

“Told you you’d love it.”

Leslie leans back into him, still looking out at the snowy mountains below her, all immersed in cloud. 

“I do. Thank you for taking me,” she replies.

“Well, technically you paid me to.” 

She spins around in his arms, playful glint in her eyes. “Are you telling me you wouldn't have brought me here if I didn’t pay you?”

“Yup,” Ben teases. He wraps his arms around her again in this new position. “No money, no climb. What kind of business do you think we’re running here?” 

“Not a very good one if you can't even give the woman who sucked your dick last night a free climb…Maybe I won't do that again tonight if you don't reconsider some of your policies.”

Ben lets out a dramatic gasp, and Leslie has to physically bite on her lip to keep from succumbing to a fit of giggles.

Hah! Take that, Wyatt! She’s going to mess with your pants-parts if you keep that malarkey up. 

“You wouldn’t…” His voice drops to a deep register.

Yeah, see? That’ll show him.

He ends up getting his way later though (because really, how could any woman resist him), and she sucks his cock right before he turns her into a writhing mess around his fingers. 

What a grade-a jerk.

***

There’s only two more days left. 

It’s strange to think that after this, she will go back home to Pawnee, and Ben will stay here at the mountain. There have been so many times during this trip where Leslie’s wished she could call brilliant sunfish Ann Perkins, but sadly the service is practically nonexistent, and none of her calls go through.

Also, her cell battery may or may not have died already, which doesn't help matters much.  

It’s just that she really needs her best friend and relationship advisor to be updated on this situation and calm her down about it all, because the weight of it is beginning to hit her.

She won't see Ben again after this, Ben who has been nothing but sweet and kind and sexy and funny and awesome and every good adjective in the entire world. No man has ever treated her like this before, made her feel like she wasn't too much or too weird. 

And of course, the one man who does, lives in freaking Tanzania. 

Talk about a kick to the tummy. 

She knows Ann would tell her to have fun and try not to get too attached, but she’s failing miserably with that. It isn't for lack of trying though; she tries to think of this as just a small fling, but really, she knows it’s more than that.

Her brain is having none of this trickery. 

If Ben is feeling the same way about everything that she is, however, he makes absolutely no mention of it. Then again, she supposes that she doesn't either, but still…They’re skirting around the topic like it’s the Black Plague, and the more they ignore it, the more it looms over their heads.

It’s getting a bit ridiculous, actually.

And yet, here they are, having a perfectly nice conversation about her future presidential platforms instead. 

“You know,” Ben tells her. “When I ran for mayor, I actually had hopes to one day hold higher office. Maybe not president, but I thought being a congressman or something would be cool.” 

“You still could!” Leslie says, grabbing onto a tree for support. It turns out that the climb back down is actually just as grueling as the climb up had been. “Move back home. I’d vote for you! Well, if we were in the same state, anyways.” 

Ben smiles sadly at her.

“ _This_ is my home now.” 

And there it is again, the conversation waiting to happen.

But, once again, it gets pushed off to the side.

***

The last day is by far and away the hardest. 

The climbing itself is actually easy; it’s mostly flat with a few tricky areas, but they’re both quieter today and the conversations feel more forced, as if they’re trying to hold off the inevitable. In just a few short hours, they’ll have to part ways. 

She never thought she’d prefer sleeping in a bag on the ground over a warm bed, and yet, here she is, completely unexcited at the prospect of curling into some cozy sheets and blankets later tonight. 

“When does your plane leave?” Ben asks, as if he’s read her mind. He’s been dropping more and more subtle hints like this that tell her she’s not the only one who doesn't want this to end. 

“Tomorrow morning.”

The pit in her heart grows tenfold. 

“Oh…” He shoves his hands in his pockets, but doesn't say anything else on the matter, only something about lunchtime being soon. As if on cue, Leslie’s stomach growls, and she’s happy when, an hour later, it’s full again.

She’s also pretty happy that this is the last serving of stew she’ll be having for a while. She misses her waffles and whipped cream, thank you very much. When she tells Ben this, he laughs. 

“I’m more of an omelette person. Or oatmeal with fruit.”

Leslie’s nose scrunches in disgust. How could she be falling for a guy who likes _oatmeal?_ Yuck! 

“If you had a bite of waffles from JJ’s Diner in Pawnee, you would forget that eggs and oatmeal ever even existed,” she promises. 

“Oh, really? What’s so special about these waffles, then?”

“Oh, Ben. Sweet, naive, Ben, these waffles are the best in the entire world. They are so fluffy and golden brown and topped with whipped cream…”

She looks longingly into the distance, thinking of nothing but this, and it isn't until Ben actually shakes her shoulder that she’s returned to earth. Of course though, by then, her thoughts had drifted to Pawnee and how much she misses it, so she launches into a detailed explanation of how amazing her town is.

“It sounds like you’ll be happy to go back home,” Ben says once she’s finished.

“Yes,” Leslie nods. “Yes…and no.” 

“Why not?”

“It was a much needed vacation,” she starts, but then she decides _oh fuck it_ and tells him the real reason. “That, and I…well, I’m going to miss your cute butt when I’m gone. And everything that’s attached to that cute butt.”

And there’s that sad smile again.

“I thought it was just me…” 

“Of course it wasn’t!” Leslie says. She grabs ahold of his hand and squeezes her eyes shut when she sees the beginnings of a clearing in the trees. They’ve come to the end. “This time with you…It’s been some of the best time of my life.”

Ben turns her around and kisses her sweetly- so sweetly she’s almost afraid that she will melt into a puddle right on the outskirts of Kilimanjaro.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispers when he finally pulls away.

She would love nothing more. 

***

Ben’s place is small, the perfect size for one, and for the first time since knowing him, Leslie wonders if he’s at all lonely here. She knows she would be, especially in the absence of her family, but she also knows that circumstances are different for Ben. It makes her heart feel heavy. 

She looks around while he pours her wine, and admittedly, there isn't much to look at. There are no pictures on the walls or paint or actually, fun decorations of any kind. The only even remotely interesting things are a Lego Millenium Falcon that sits on his coffee table and the books that litter his shelves. She spots a very faded copy of _The Return of the King_ and smiles when she remembers him telling her about his love for _The Lord of the Rings._  

He told her that if she was anyone in those books, she’d be Eowyn, and she isn't quite sure what that means, but takes it as a compliment anyways. It’s like when he called her Khaleesi a few days ago, which she’s assuming was just another nerdy reference that Tom would’ve laughed at if he’d heard. 

“Here you go, madame,” Ben says when he comes back in the room. He hands her a glass of red wine, which she has to remind herself repeatedly not to just chug down.

She’s a little nervous. She isn't exactly sure what the etiquette is for spending the last day you’ll get with a man who you met on a mountain and slept with. It’s all very confusing.

Ben settles into the couch next to her, and Leslie falls into him easily. 

“I’m really, really, realllllly going to miss you,” Leslie confesses again. “I…I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“Ditto.” He kisses the top of her head.

“No, I’m serious.” She sits up. “You make me feel like I’m not an impossible person to be with, and most other men I’ve been with have. People always tell me that I’m too much, and I never felt that way with you.”

“That’s because I think you are the perfect amount,” Ben says, cupping her chin in his hand. 

“The perfect amount of what?” 

“Everything,” he replies, completely sincere. 

She’s just barely able to save her wine from spilling all over the place when Ben kisses her, and yeah, it’s really nice to be able to do this on an actual couch as opposed to the ground. She reaches blindly for the table and sets her glass down, hands coming up around his neck. Somehow, she ends up in his lap, completely straddling him.

“God, I’m going to miss this,” Ben says into her mouth, but before she can reply, his lips are on hers again. Instead, she makes an incoherent sound of agreement that sounds a lot like _mmrrrnghh._

At the same time that Ben’s hands find their way up her shirt, she strokes him through his pants. They both moan, and Leslie doesn't think she’s seriously been this horny since she was a teenager. 

Stupid Ben’s penis making her hormones go haywire.

“Okay, pants off,” Ben growls. “Now.”

Mmmmm, she likes impatient Ben. 

She swings her legs off of him and pulls her pants down, wiggling her hips. She’s wearing panties with little Mickey Mouses all over them, and Ben pulls on the waistband, letting it snap back against her skin.

“Cute,” he says. “But they would look much better off. Your shirt and bra too.” 

So, Leslie gives him exactly what he wants, throwing each piece of clothing at him as she takes it off. He calls her a goofball and she retorts that it’s his turn, hands on her hips.

Instead, he just crooks a finger at her. “C’mere.”

He kisses her again, almost like he can't get enough, but Leslie doesn't mind. She could sit here and kiss him forever if he wanted her to.

“Let’s go to bed,” Ben says once he pulls away and she whines about all the clothes he’s still wearing, but then he’s picking her up and her legs are wrapping around his tiny little waist, and she forgets to care. 

He finally takes off his clothes after throwing her onto the bed, then he’s climbing up to her, stroking her jaw before their lips meet again. She can feel him, hard against her thigh.

“Beeeeen…” she moans. “Please.”

“Patience, babygirl. I’m going to give you what you want, I promise.” 

As if to demonstrate his point, his hand moves down to massage her breast, and his lips trail across her neck. He kisses her everywhere he can reach, tonguing her nipples on his way down. Finally, he gets to the one place she really wants him and spreads her legs out, kneading at the flesh of her inner thighs.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Ben says, though his eyes never leave the space between her legs. “So beautiful.”

“I’m really not.”

His tongue runs up her center, causing her hips to buck involuntarily. 

“You really are.” 

He pulls away only to slide a finger inside of her, his other hand holding her down when she comes completely off the bed. The friction builds something perfect inside of her, something that makes her eyes roll back into her head. She squeezes them shut, breathing coming in short pants. 

Ben sucks at her clit as he puts another finger in, and Leslie peeks just in time to see him look up at her from beneath heavy eyelids. This proves to be too much, and she immediately snaps her eyes shut again.

But then his mouth leaves her and she’s forced to look.

“Watch me please.” 

His hands entangle with hers as his mouth descends once more, lips tugging at all the right places. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuuuuck,” Leslie whines. She writhes in the sheets, but Ben holds her steady, and finally, that release he’s been chasing for her comes. Her breath catches in her throat and her back arches, and she can finally, finally let go.

Ben only comes up to her again when her breathing returns to normal. He turns her onto her side and pulls one leg over his hip, pushing into her from behind. Leslie’s hand finds the back of his neck as he thrusts into her, lips pulling at her pulse point. 

Leslie isn't sure when his thrusts slowed in speed or when she started crying or when everything began to feel more like a goodbye, but she knows that this is all entirely too much. Silent tears roll down her cheeks, but she makes no effort to wipe them away. 

Every touch now is goodbye, every kiss, every sweet whisper. It is the end, the inevitable that came far too quickly, and Leslie has the sudden urge to somehow rip time open, hold onto this moment forever. 

“Don't ever leave,” Ben whispers. “Please don't leave me.”

And, it’s in that moment that she knows he’s in love with her every bit as much as she’s in love with him. 

***

_Pawnee, Indiana_

It’s been a month since she’s come back home, and she’s finally adjusted back to life in Pawnee again. Even though she wasn't gone for long, she missed being home, missed her mother and Ann and work and JJ’s Diner and a thousand other things. 

Of course, there are also things she misses back in Tanzania. She misses the coffee, misses the mountain. 

She misses Ben. 

Without really thinking about it, her fingers brush up against the piece of paper that never leaves her pocket nowadays. She hasn't told anyone about this, not even Ann, and it feels nice to have it for herself. 

This little piece of what she left behind. 

She pulls it out and unfolds it, rereading it for the millionth time since she first found it in her backpack on the plane. She knows now what Ben’d been writing when she walked out of her tent that night - the night he kissed her the first time: 

_I never quite believed you could fall in love with someone upon meeting them, and truthfully, I still don’t, but there’s something to be said for love at second sight or third. I did feel something when I met her, something that was more than just an attraction. It was in the way her hair spilled out from beneath her sunhat, the way her eyes lit up when she saw the mountain for the first time. The way her touch burned through me like fire._

_It’s her sunshine personality that makes me feel as though I’ve been trapped inside an hourglass for so long now, sand spilling over me faster and faster as I realize we just don't have the time._

_And god, I want the time to fall in love with her. Because I could. I really, really could._

There are a few scribblings that come after, and Leslie knows this is when she interrupted him. They’re just another almost, another could-have been, and she longs to know what they would’ve read if he’d gotten the chance to write them.

If he’d gotten the time. 

Leslie sighs and sinks into the couch, folding the note back up. She searches through Netflix, finding nothing that grabs her attention before pulling out her knitting needles and yarn instead. 

She’s halfway through making a new scarf for Ann (despite the fact that Ann said she didn't need any more five scarves ago), when she hears a knock on the door. She looks to the time, eyebrow furrowed. 

It’s 11:53; who’d be knocking on her door at this hour? It certainly can't be Mrs. Abshire from next door coming to tell her that her music’s too loud again because she made sure to keep it at a perfectly reasonable volume this time. 

Maybe she should get her pepper spray in case it’s someone trying to murder her?

When she finally does pull back the door, however, what she sees is the absolute last thing she expects.

Ben Wyatt is standing on her doorstep, a bouquet of wildflowers in hand and a smile on his face. He looks more put together this time around, with a clean shaven jaw and twinkle in his eyes, though his Ray Bans are still folded in his shirt. He hands her the flowers, which are bright and yellow and perfect.

“Jambo,” he says, and her knitting needles clatter to the floor.


End file.
